Page 117 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“Not enough—he knew exactly what he was doing.” Closing my eyes, I waded through the cascade of images, Steyne’s hands wrapped around my wrists, and the pull of his jacket across his shoulders, and the slick red sensuality of his mouth and the dirty silver of his eyes, and tried to remember. “A sex party. Tonight. That’s it. That’s all.”

“Well…” Ellery pursed her lips. “That’s not a ton to go on, but we can narrow it down a bit.”

“Can we?”

“Hell yeah. Nathaniel’s a total prude, so he’s not going to want to go to your basic sleazy kink club, is he? Which means it’ll be some Chelsea set, masks and rose gold cock rings, and invite-only bollocks.”

Thank God for Ellery. I should have been able to figure that out for myself, but my brain was half wee timorous beastie, convinced it was about to get attacked again, and half rampaging dragon, which just wanted to roar at things and set them on fire until I could be sure Caspian was safe.

“Okay,” I said, “but how the hell do I get into something like that?”

She shrugged. Which, from anyone else, would have seemed dismissive. But from Ellery, at that moment, seemed genuinely regretful. “Sorry. So not my scene.”

Nor mine. But knowing people who could get me into scenes that weren’t my scene was literally my whole job.

Chapter 39

Of course, there was no guarantee George would answer her phone—not because she would screen me, but because if there was a fancy sex party happening somewhere, she was probably already at it. Which was all intensely nerve-wracking because I didn’t have a backup plan. Thankfully she picked up.

“Tell me,” came her familiar drawl, “this is a booty call.”

“Um. It’s aplease for the love of God help mecall?”

I couldn’t see her, but I felt her manner change. “What’s the matter?”

Somehow I babbled out the story—at least the parts of it that didn’t involve Lancaster Steyne trying to rape me.

“I’m not sure I understood a word of that,” said George, when I was done. “But I think you’re telling me you want to go a sex party? To save Caspian Hart? From some ill-advised impact play?”

“I guess?”

A pause. “You do live in interesting times, poppet.”

“Is there a thing, though? Tonight. Like Steyne said.”

“Give me a moment—I vaguely recall an invitation sliding into my in-box.”

I gave her a moment. Though every second of it was excruciating.

“There’s a kinky masquerade in Kensington. Arranged by the sort of people who think they’re terribly decadent but are, in practice, terribly boring.”

That sounded…promising? Better than nothing, at any rate. “Can you get us in? Are you on the guest list?”

“Of course I’m on the guest list. I can’t believe you’re even asking.” She gave a discontented growl. “Though under normal circumstances I wouldn’t dignify such a pissant little debauch with my presence.”

“But you’ll still”—my voice wavered—“still take me, won’t you?”

“Oh, Arden. Of course I will. It’s black tie, so get ready, and I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

She hung up. And I turned back to Ellery. “Okay, we’ve got another problem.”

She paused, halfway through unlacing her boots. “What now?”

“Do you know where I can get a tux at…whatever o’clock it is on a Friday night?”

“Sure. There’s the twenty-four/seven formalwear supermarket just down the road.”

I stared at her. “Ellery, I’m too freaked out to navigate sarcasm effectively right now. There’s a dress code for the party. And I’m scared they won’t let me in if I don’t look right.”

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